


The National Anthem

by orphan_account



Category: Political RPF - US 21st c, Presidential Race 2016 - Fandom, Republicans - Fandom, The Republican Party
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, Gen, Lana Del Rey inspired, M/M, MONEY POWER GLORY, POV Multiple, Questionable Consent, Sorry Not Sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-29 08:15:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6366415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘We need to talk. ASAP. And by ‘ASAP’ I mean yesterday or even before’</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, this is in no way supposed to be some kind of political statement or offensive to the people described here or their voters/supporters. We know very little about them.
> 
> Second: vote Kasich. Or Sanders. Or whoever you like if it's not Trump. But Kasich is the unnoticed sweetheart of this race, even though it's sometimes hard to tell why he runs as a Republican
> 
> Third: this is just a pretty badly written gay smut, why am I even bothering.

_‘...if I’m president, ISIS will hate me. And how do I know this? Because everyone who knows me hates me. The Democrats hate me, the Republicans hate me. I have what doctors call ‘a punchable face…’_

The few SNL sketches on the Presidential Race 2016 featuring one particular Republican candidate have been played at full volume in the hotel room over and over for the past two hours. He tried to hide in the bathroom, reading some Folckner on the balcony, but his thoughts and tiredness were exploding through the veins on his skull. The constantly buzzing cellphone was not helpful either – lawyers, advisors, polls notifications, wondering upon any reasonable explanation of how FN had managed to conduct that Millenials would pick him over Clinton, and on top of that all – a sudden and most disturbing yet not unexpected text:    

_‘We need to talk. ASAP. And by ‘ASAP’ I mean yesterday or even before’_

Before he could fully reflex on the message and his following action, his voice was already asking:

‘Heidi, que -- Heidi, what’s ‘asap’?

‘Are you attempting to understand Internet again, or what? Isn’t that better left to your fantastic team of sharp-minded geniuses?’ she replied almost succeding at seeming distant, though not bothering to turn the videos down. Still mad at that recklessly stupid Melania post, at his entire SMM crew, at him. ‘It wasn’t me’, he’d kept repeating throughout the entire day, and the answer ‘I’m not one of your dumb voters, Ted!’ hadn’t been the worst thing she’d thrown at him. For example, ‘Hadn’t it been for me and the girls even those fanatics would’ve seen you for what you are’ has reached the target spreading so much cold through his arteries it could've stopped Global Warming.

He found himself staring at the text again. He wanted to answer and was terrified at the very idea of it. He needs to talk to a campaign advisor, maybe the man just wants to discuss the terms of endorsement. He thought of Jeb’s polite words at the end of their meeting: ‘To be perfectly honest, you weren’t my first choice’. Ted's mind then had circled between ‘I never am’ and ‘Oh, like John actually has a chance’. Both options screamed personal, both appealed to things neither of them had desired to be mentioned ever, both rang with self-awareness of ‘ _a candidate most people wanted to throw a beer at_ ’. He’d smiled in a way even his mother called creepy and stretched his hand out. Jeb had pressed his lips together forcing on a mask of friendliness and shaken it. The man may have been a helpless and a quite untalented heir of a political dynasty, but one thing he didn’t lack was a sense of dignity – a concept Ted had only started thinking of by the midst of the past year’s Autumn.

The text hung heavily on his mind for good five minutes or so, while he was desperately going through advisor’s numbers looking for the right man to set the meeting up. Acting again half-unconsciously he dialed the sender’s number.

‘Took you forever’, Marco answered on the other end.     


	2. Chapter 1: Old Money

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With all the insane stuff going in GOP, I'm barely even sure if I have a storyline anymore.
> 
> 'Anyway, here's 'Wonderwall''

‘I mean, can you believe that buddy, Chris? Talking about the 4th Amendment like it’s up to him to decide’, Paul slammed his glass on the table, his curly hair already messed up more than it had been on the stage three hours earlier, his movements even more wavy than most of the time. He looked like a caricature of an angry chamomile flower. The three of them – Rand, Kasich and Bush – have been the last people sitting in the hotel bar after the event celebrating (or, more accurately, mourning) the first GOP debate of this race.

‘I wouldn’t call him your ‘buddy’, and as far as I understood he was referring to Jeb’s brother, not himself’, John answered, gazing at Jeb – quickly but not rushed, not nervously. Jeb once again felt they’ve all been treating him as an unworthy obstacle constituted by not much other than a famous name that would soon take care of itself and clear the path becoming just another line in their endorsement lists.

‘Jeb’, the Governor of Kentucky put the weight of his arm on Bush’s shoulder, taking the man into the unseen cloud of a truly terrible whiskey smell. ‘I want you to know that I have nothing against _you’_

‘We’re all sure you don’t, Rand’, the oldest of the three answered to him again, letting Jeb to respond with nothing but a polite smile. Paul was a disaster tonight, but he needed to have a moment alone with the man, and, well, at least it was now clear to Jeb that Rand wouldn’t push him away. On the other hand, if the guy could lie while being so completely wasted, then he was much more of a politician than the younger Bush was, and the next place Jeb should be trying his charms was Rubio. God, he would hate that.

On the corner of his eye Jeb caught Kasich studying him– with the same calm and understanding look the man had most of the time. Time was ticking – Paul was too close to collapsing into a complete oblivion and who knows if he would be able to get another shot at this. Jeb wanted John to leave so badly, but manners (although, to be perfectly honest it had far more to do with his paranoid carefulness) wouldn’t let him to ask the Governor of Ohio to leave even in a subtle way.

‘Trump turned out to be the real thing, huh?’ Jeb decided to break the lingering silence.

‘Nah…’, John cleared his throat, and spoke in a tone that would sound much more appropriate in a classroom - him being the teacher, and Jeb - his not very sharp-minded student. ‘Just because he makes good rating for the FN doesn’t mean he is a good politician. Most of the stuff he says is straight up mental, they may like him now as a showstopper kind of thing, but they probably won’t put their money on him during the general election. Guy has less chance than Cruz’

‘Sure about that? Cruz isn’t polling so bad’, Jeb countered, actually hoping for John to be right.

‘The man has no friends in GOP, no significant ties in the corporate world, and, frankly… I want to make myself clear – I don’t approve of this particular side of electability detailing – he looks like he’s just murdered someone in his basement. Last thing people will want is to see Ted Bundy slash Charles Manson type-of-guy on the news every single day for the next four years’

 ‘But he’s quite charismatic…’

‘I’m charismatic!’ Paul suddenly exclaimed, scaring both of them for a second. ‘To the wonderful year ahead of us, gentlemen!’ he rose the whole bottle.

‘I wouldn’t sleep well knowing a man who drinkslike that has access to the nuclear codes’, John chuckled.

‘Actually’, Rand pointed a finger at John, then at Jeb, then apparently lost his focus and gave up. ‘Did George have the codes? For real, I mean’

‘That’s some Dr. Strangelove level of conversation’, Jeb smiled, but Paul was already rushing away in his thoughts.

‘Kim has the codes, Putin has the codes, who else? Do you think Queen Elizabeth does? I mean, I can’t be the scariest person to hold such a possession’

Jeb and Kasich broke into laughter, and Paul joined them.

‘Compared to Putin and Kim – no, compared to Queen Elizabeth, you do seem quite like an irresponsible moron’, John parodied the British accent, stretchinghis arms above his head with flexibility Jeb wouldn’t expect of a man his age, and while settling back, rested his right hand on the table and the left oneon Jeb’s knee under it. He’d done it all in such a natural and relaxed manner; it has taken Jeb a few lost moments to understand what had just happened. This indeed bared a resemblance to Kubrick’s half-surrealistic film. For reasons unexplainable to himself, Jeb didn’t flinch or move despite the bit his heart had skipped. He looked at John, but the Governor of Ohio was already continuing on Rand’s case:

‘That’s what troubles me in your isolationist views, kid, it truly does’, his hand moved up Jeb’s leg, slightly squeezing it, and all Jeb could do was shutting his eyes and his jaws so tight it almost hurt. ‘We have more weapons than any country in the world, and you’re suggesting we should keep it all here, what are we going to do with all that on our hands? Take the 2nd Amendment to a new level? You should be reading less Ayn Rand’

‘I haven’t even finished ‘Atlas shrugged’’, Paul giggled playfully and dropped his head down. Jeb gazed at John again – this time longer and more persistent, but Kasich just winced at him, rising from his place. The second his fingers left Jeb’s thigh, the latter felt a slight trembling rushing through his members.

‘And on this disappointing note I should probably leave you, gentlemen, Jeb?’ John stretched out his hand for a handshake. Jeb stood up and shook it, thanking God for the automatic reflexes gained over the years – otherwise, he would’ve just sat there like a complete idiot. Rand, on his part, just waved and attempted to give Governor Kasich a high-five. Kasich smiled and headed for the exit towards the elevators.

‘Jeb, I think I—I probably need help to get to my room…’ Rand mumbled, his voice tired. The man looked nothing like the fellow that’d been yelling ‘ _Use the 4 th Amendment! Get a warrant! Nobody understands the Bill of Rights better than I do_’ in front of the whole country the same day earlier. Jeb pulled himself together.

‘Sure, you do’

He dragged Rand through the hall, the stairs and to the second floor, and with every step they’d make he was thinking more and more only of how old and screwed up he was to be doing this – taking part in some sort of a cheerleading trial before stepping into the office. Entertaining the public and socializing in these almost intimate ways with other contesters in order to benefit from it in the final part of the race – it did feel a lot like a high school. If he’d counted Fiorina out (and the polls would probably take care of that soon), it was too close to his all-boys private school experience.

By the time they’d got to the room, Rand was barely even awake. Jeb knocked but received no answer.

‘They didn’t think they should’ve come… That it was worth the trouble’, Rand said in a far more sober tone and practically fell on the door, before opening it with his card. Jeb invited himself in, helping the man up only to throw him on the bed.

‘Do you?’

‘Do I what?’

‘Think it’s worth the trouble?’

‘Huh’, Paul was absently staring at the ceiling. ‘If you’re not in politics for this, what you’re in for?’

‘Helping people…’ Jeb started, standing above him in undecidedness.   

‘Yeah, and making America great again, all that. Your brother broke the Constitution, and you think you can answer with lines even schoolchildren know to be a total scam’, Paul lifted on his elbows.

‘This isn’t about my brother…’

‘Isn’t it?’

Jeb clenched his jaws:

‘You know what I thought-- that we could team up and work on something, but since that doesn’t seem to be the case, I’ll show myself out’, he moved, but Paul caught him by his belt.

‘You’re talking combining the numbers? Or going against Trump in a duo? How disappointed in you are your parents by now?’

‘Shut the hell up’

Rand rose, clinging to Jeb’s shirt.

‘You wouldn’t be talking to any one of us, playing the good guy, nor seeking support, hadn’t they left you behind’

His whiskey-smelling breath reached Jeb’s nose. It wasn’t Dr. Strangelove, it was the Full Metal Jacket scene – two men in a dark room with a slight blueish light. Jeb leaned to the wall without shaking Rand off and looked past the man.

‘We’re both fucked up, aren’t we?’

‘As well as the whole Grand Old Party and, quite probably the States in general, so there’s that’, Rand chuckled.

They glared at each other, and Jeb thought of how even while being drunk Rand had a more realistic view on things ahead of them. He painfully needed something else to put his mind to, and it all rushed to the feeling of John’s hand on his leg. Of the boys he went to school with. Of Paul’s palms still being clenched to his shirt. If this country is rolling to hell at the speed of light carrying the dream of his lifetime with it, he might as well follow them.

He pressed his lips against Rand’s and felt—embraced, realizing the stupidity of his action only in aftermath. Everything got blurry, but the other man was already holding him tightly. They crashed on the bed and their entwined movements were clumsy, childish, but the thoughts of the time and opportunities lost were fading away with every kiss they shared and every breath they took. And they were young and pretty.


End file.
